


Regret the Poor Children

by thought



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, hansel and gretel freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2663702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thought/pseuds/thought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash and Carolina get lost in the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regret the Poor Children

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toomanyhometowns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanyhometowns/gifts).



There're rumours floating around the MoI that they're going to start pulling AI. Everyone knew Epsilon and Wash were the last implantation, but now there are concerned murmurings that the entire program is being scrapped. Some of the AI have been very vocal in their concern (Omega, Sigma) as have some of the agents (York, Wyoming) but Carolina would rather dedicate herself to training than indulging rumours. She knows the score. Knows that she and Wash are the hardest sell when it comes to program viability. It's why she's pushing herself.

Ten days after Carolina collapsed screaming on the training room floor, eight days after wash emerged from medical with bandages around his forearms and stitches in his forehead and a distant look in his eyes, The Director taps them for a mission. Carolina's mostly surprised, but there's a part of her that's proud, too. Eta is eager to get out into the field. Iota is wary.

The mission briefing is, for lack of a better word, brief. They show up in the middle of what is clearly an argument for as much as both Director and Counsellor slide smoothly into professionalism. The specifics of the mission seem vague, the goal simplistic. Carolina requests clarification and gets snapped at for her trouble.

"This isn't right," Wash says as soon as they've left The Director's office.

"Everyone's under a lot of pressure," Carolina says. "Let's just keep our heads down and get the mission done."

"This really isn't right, Carolina."

She doesn't say anything. Doesn’t say that nothing's been right for a long time. Doesn't need to.

*

Her equipment starts malfunctioning half an hour after they hit dirt.

"Wash," she says, lifting a hand to wipe the visor of her helmet clear of the dirt thrown up by the fierce wind. "My GPS and nav just went dark. Trackers too. I've got thermals, but no map overlay."

"Do you want me to take a look at your helmet?"

"The techs went over everything before we left like usual," she says. "I'm going to radio this in, it could be deliberate."

"Sabotage?"

"Or interference on the ground. Check all of your systems."

She gets a line back to the ship, but it's The Counsellor who responds. "Agent Carolina, you are not due to make your first report for three hours."

"Sir, half my HUD's gone non-functional. I'm concerned there may have been tampering before we left the ship."

"We will be sure to look into the matter, Agent. Thank you for bringing it to our attention."

"I'm not certain it would be advisable to continue with the mission," she says. "Who knows what other surprises could be waiting in our armour."

"I have the utmost faith that you and Agent Washington will complete the task assigned to you," The Counsellor says evenly. "Report in at the designated time."

He cuts the connection before she can argue.

"Well," says Carolina softly, and slides the rifle off her back and into her arms. "Lead the way, Wash, since you're the one who knows where we're going."

*

"Keep track," Epsilon says in Wash's head. "Likelihood of equipment failure 89% betrayal betrayal betrayal. Remember the way back."

"Everything looks the same," Wash says. He no longer feels ridiculous talking into the enclosed silence of his helmet. Better than another voice in his head even if it is his own. "See one tree you've seen them all."

"Look at the fork in that one she made me climb in my suit just graduated got stuck up there for hours-- the way the broken branches lean 60 degrees angle like your first broken bone-- the colour of the leaves like the green of her jacket the first time I saw her out of uniform-- that cluster of berries drops of blood that won't come out of the carpet whose memory was that one the carpet was already stained it didn't matter are you keeping track, Agent Washington, likelihood of betrayal 93%."

Wash keeps walking. Wash keeps track of the path by memories, his or Epsilon's. Listens to the steady thud of Carolina's boots behind him and the rush of the wind in the trees overhead and the insistent background babble of Epsilon in his mind. They walk for a long time. His clock fails two and a half hours in. It's the first piece of equipment to go and it seems petty. A mockery.

"Looks like it's not just your armour," Wash says to Carolina, and they both pretend they weren't expecting it. Wash is getting very good at pretending very fast. Epsilon looks at a falling log and remembers a picnic, remembers throwing bread to the birds even though the signs warned against it.

"Anything essential?"

"Not yet. Just my clock."

Carolina snorts. "That's about the only thing I've got left. We should be getting close to the target by now, correct?"

Wash frowns at his map. "Yeah. We... yes. We should’ve noticed some sort of perimeter by now, actually. Sorry. I--" She'd wanted to soak the bread in beer first, try and get the birds drunk, but the bits of soggy bread fell apart in her fingers before she could throw them, sticking messily under her short nails and building a sad pile of abandoned mush at her feet.

"Wash?"

"I haven't seen anything yet on scanners. Sorry. I-- We should have been paying attention."

"No use focusing on shoulds," she says briskly. "Look, Wash. My entire HUD's dead. I can't even target. I can see what's in front of my face and what time it is, that's about it. You're going to have to take point no matter what."

"Got it," he says. He's got a lot of things. Got a secret. Got a job. Got to keep his mouth shut for both of them. Got to keep walking, one foot in front of the other. Got to keep remembering.

On his display the icon for thermals quietly goes dark and inactive.

*

"Agent Washington to The Mother of Invention," Wash says for the fifth time. Still there's no response from the distant buzz of apathetic static. Carolina leans up against a tree a few feet across from him. She's already given up on her radio. It's getting dark. They have not found an enemy base. They have not found anything but more trees and more trees and more trees. They have not been able to contact the ship since Carolina's first call.

"There's got to be something wrong with the radios," Carolina says. "I should've predicted this. The rest of our equipment was failing, it stands to reason the radios would too."

"None of this is right," Wash says, because if he doesn't say the words he thinks Epsilon will force them straight out through his skin.

"We need to get back to the extraction point," she says. "They aren't going to be able to track us in all these trees, we've got a better chance of getting picked up if we're right where they left us."

Wash nods. "My nav systems went out twenty minutes ago," he says. “But I-- we remembered. We kept track of where we were going?"

Carolina straightens up. "Was that a statement or a question?"

Wash turns back in the direction they'd come from. The wind has covered the faint imprints of their boots in the dirt, but this first part is fresh enough in their minds that it should be easy.

"Ok, Epsilon," he says. "This was your idea. We kept track."

"He doesn't want us back," Epsilon says. "I don't want to remember."

Wash keeps walking, focuses on the steady thud of Carolina's boots behind him and the wind in the trees and Epsilon's panicky ranting in the front of his mind. They're walking into the wind and dirt keeps obscuring his visor. He looks over at a tree and Epsilon immediately pops up with "That branch, 77 degree angle like the first bone you broke falling out of the tree on graduation in your best suit."

"I never graduated," Wash says, but he's not actually certain of that fact.

The moon creeps up over the horizon, casting everything in sharp white light. Nothing looks familiar. "Hey, boss," he calls. "How are we supposed to know where we're going?"

Carolina stops. Wash stops, too, and turns, glad to get his face out of the wind.

"Wash," she says. "You said you knew how to get back to the extraction point."

He frowns. "Nope. My nav's down, I told you."

She's quiet for a long minute. The wind keeps blowing. "Ok. Come on, we need to find some shelter. Somewhere to rest. I don't know what sort of predators this planet's got to offer and I'm not looking forward to finding out."

Wash follows after her agreeably. He's not all that tired, but without a map or navigation it's safer to wait until daylight and the position of the sun to try and get back to the extraction point. The white of the moonlight catches on a tree trunk and Wash is reminded, briefly, of a cat he had as a kid, small and white and affectionate. He imagines looking back at it but only sees the light glinting off the roof of an old Southern manor house.

*

They find the cabin a couple ours after nightfall. After Wash's memory lapse Carolina and her rifle take the lead again, but there seems to be no area that provides even the smallest bit of shelter from the elements. Carolina's neck and shoulders ache with vigilant tension and Eta paces her mind in even, considering steps. Iota has retreated to a background hum of anxiety, which is better than things could be but still not optimal.

The cabin seems to appear out of nowhere. One step revealing only more in the endless landscape of greenery, the next taking them out into a roughly circular clearing which surrounds a sturdy looking square log cabin.

"Hallucinating?" Wash asks.

Carolina strides up to the cabin and taps the wall with the end of her rifle. "Doesn't look like it."

"I really hope this isn't the enemy base," wash says. "That would be really embarrassing."

"Don't even say that," Carolina mutters. And then, "Embarrassing for whom?"

"Everyone," Wash says with deep conviction.

Carolina knocks on the door. No one answers. "So," she says. "This is absolutely too good to be true, but I'm not all that interested in heading back out into the woods. You game to take on the consequences?"

"Yes," Wash says eagerly.

Carolina swings open the door. Nothing happens. She enters, gun first. Still, nothing. She checks out the inside as best she can with only the light from the moon and no night-vision, and finds only two narrow beds, an old wooden table, and a large wood stove.

"Seems safe, if implausibly anachronistic," she calls to wash, and he joins her. Once the door is closed everything is suddenly quieter. Carolina slides down to the floor leaning against the foot of one of the beds and pulls a ration bar from her pack.

"We'll stay here until morning," she says. "Maybe see if we can fix some of our equipment. But we may as well get a couple hours of sleep. You first."

"I'm ok to take first watch if you'd rather sleep," Wash says.

Carolina slides her helmet off and shakes her head. "No, I'm still wide awake. Get some shut-eye, then get to work on the radio."

Wash nods, and settles down on the floor. He removes his helmet, too, steals the pillows from the beds. The chances are good they'd break the splintery wooden frames if they tried to lie on them in full armour. Wash falls asleep quickly. She's glad. She's wondering if everyone's right to be concerned about him.

She leans back against the bed, breathes in unrecycled air for the first time all day. Everything smells of old wood and dust. It reminds her of her childhood home.

*

Wash wakes up with the sunlight. He takes off his armour. He takes apart the radio. He thinks about the first time he took apart a computer and the way his mother looked at him for the first time like something more than an annoyance. He thinks about the first time he got a computer-- a cheap hand-held datapad, refurbished through a school program, but he could look up pictures of cats and play games with his friends.

He lies on the bed. The blankets are very soft, but they smell like mothballs. The wires from the radio sparkle in the sun. Carolina comes in with water, so he has a drink, but he can't look at her for too long or his head starts to hurt, so he goes back to staring at the wires. In the right light, the wires are the same gold as his class ring. In the right light, the wires are the same gold as his social worker's gold tooth.

At night the moonlight shines in white, almost blue-white, and the colour is familiar. Some people do not call this torture.

"Agent Washington is dead."

He lies on his back and thinks about this. He doesn't feel dead. He wonders what being dead would feel like. The sun comes up again. He thinks he has lost time. Maybe sleeping is like being dead. He wonders if Agent Texas knows what it is like to be dead. He wonders if Agent Texas sleeps.

Carolina says, "You should come outside," but he knows that outside isn't safe, that outside there is an 89% chance of betrayal and something called torture and best friends with blades through their chests or their minds. He stays inside.

The sun goes away early and there's wetness on his face. He thinks, "This is what it is to be sad," but he also thinks "Post-traumatic-stress, it's not a fucking surprise, not the first and you won't be the last, will you?"

He doesn't sleep until the sun comes back, and then only for a few hours. He wakes up and tries to put the radio back together, but the parts won't fit like they should. Carolina says, "You should come outside." He doesn't.

*

Carolina doesn't remember falling asleep, but she wakes up and looks outside and realizes that fixing the radio is far more realistic than finding the extraction point. She goes outside and finds a narrow stream running just beyond the clearing, water clear and clean and cold. She brings as much back to the cabin as she can and watches the fizz as the decontamination tablet hits the surface. It makes her think of pre-school kitchen counter science experiments, her father's hand guiding her own smaller one to squeeze chemicals from eyedroppers into glass dishes, watching in fascination at the volatile reactions.

Wash is awake and working on the radio, so she leaves him to it. There's an axe hanging up behind the wood stove, which she takes out into the trees. She sticks to already fallen logs, the blade thudding into wood with solid steady impacts. Not quite training, but better than stillness. She'd chopped wood for her grandfather after his heart got bad, bundled up in the heavy jacket and snow boots he kept at his Northern house just for her visits and tramped out into the knee-high snow of the back field to chop and chop until he had enough firewood for the next months. Her father had always said she shouldn't enable the old man's resistance to change, but Carolina has always found herself the most constructive when destroying. That night the house is lit up in flickering firelight glow, and the howl of the wind outside seems less ominous, somehow.

Wash refuses to come outside the next day. She wonders if he's sick. She drinks water and eats her ration bar sitting with her back leaning against the front door, the wind strangely still. There are no animal sounds, and it's the first time she's noticed. Later in the day there's a rainstorm. The dirt, usually loose and dry, turns to mud underfoot and she steps inside to find that the roof leaks liberally. She has to rush back outside with the axe and slice off the branches most thickly laden with leaves, layering them over the leaky areas in a haphazard solution to the problem. It's the only memory she's got of camping-- herself maybe four years old, her mother frantically trying to fix the leaking tent and her marine's vocabulary at three AM in the middle of nowhere while Carolina laughed and laughed and laughed in damp pyjamas. She doesn't remember how the night ended, doesn't know if they stuck it out or went home or if the rain stopped, just remembers looking up at her mother and realizing that she was as human as Carolina or her dad, that not even her mother could defeat something so elemental as a Texas rainstorm.

She tries to get Wash to come outside with her again the next day, but he refuses. Eta tells her there's something wrong with him. Carolina wants to go for a run. She goes outside and thinks about running along the stream. If she keeps it to her right, she will know how to get back home.

Iota cries out, fear washing bright and white and hot to meet Carolina’s own cold dread. She can feel Eta's impatient attempts to calm them both, but it takes a moment to work. She looks at the cabin with the branches piled on top and the water buckets fizzing gently out front and the wood pile stacked tidily at the side. Thinks of Wash, tucked safely away on the bed by the window with the wires and the blankets.

She goes back inside. Shakes Wash's shoulder until he looks at her. "You need to fix the radio," she says sharply.

"I'm trying," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'll pay for it, please don't--"

"His implantation was unsuccessful," Eta says.

"Stop hurting him," Iota says.

"We need to get out of here," Carolina says, and digs fingertips hard into his upper arm. "Wash, listen to me I need you to focus."

His eyes clear a bit. He actually meets her gaze. "Boss?"

"Wash. Come outside. Fix the radio."

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

"It's not safe."

She nods. "I know. But it's not safe in here, either. Nowhere is safe. You know that."

*

Wash is outside when Carolina sets the house on fire.

He's been fiddling with the radio, almost got it fixed, and she's been hauling firewood and branches inside by the armful. He isn't sure what she's doing not even when she starts jogging back and forth from the stream with buckets of water, liberally dousing the clearing around the cabin, leaving the already rain-wet ground boggy. It isn't until she pulls out a lighter (and Wash doesn't even bother to question why Carolina carries around a lighter) that he starts to realize what's going on.

"Uh, boss? I haven't 100% fixed the radio yet. And there's no guarantee that they'll answer."

"Keep working," she says shortly. Wash moves further back toward the tree line. The wind has remained calm since the rainstorm, but he's not willing to take chances. He focuses intently on the radio components spread out in front of him.

When Carolina comes out of the cabin she locks the door behind her. Wash has got the radio back in one piece, and he's just sliding his helmet on to give it a try. She jogs over to him, stands in front of him, waiting.

"Agent Washington to the Mother of Invention. This is Freelancer Agent Washington to The Mother of Invention, do you read me?"

Behind Carolina there's a faint orange flicker from the window of the cabin. Static crackles quietly in his ear. He waits. Inhales to try again, but lets out the breath silently as The Director's voice comes over the radio.

"Agent Washington, we read you."

"Sir," wash says. "It's--" epsilon stutters-- "good to hear your voice."

"We were concerned when we lost contact with you, Agent. Is Agent Carolina with you?"

"Yes Sir," wash says. "She's right here. All of our equipment stopped functioning shortly after Carolina's check in with The Counsellor yesterday, but we found shelter for the night and were able to repair the radio this morning."

Somewhere inside the cabin, something cracks like thunder. Carolina is watching him, her helmet still off. He can't look at her too long.

"I am glad to hear that. We'll send someone to recover you both," The Director says. "A great deal has happened in your absence, and I still have use for both of you."

"Understood," Wash says. "We'll be waiting."

The connection is cut. Wash says, "Sounds like we're going home."


End file.
